It was one of those autumn days when a kiss on the clean, clear sky would have been appropriate. Magnolia leaves stood glistening in the sun. It was an afternoon for a thankful party. Sometimes it’s difficult to rise above the dishwater to thank God for a day of life, but today was special. A postcard to my Father in Heaven began to rise from this heart:

“Daddy God, I love this day, the temperature is perfect with a hint of cool in the morning. The air smells clean and the leaves are showing hints of color. In our front yard bloom two white roses — not because of anything we’ve done. Completely unattended, they bloom in December also. The lakes merge with the mountains and show their diamond wave caps better than a jewelry storefront. Deep thankfulness doesn’t come with words, but with feelings. The excitement of crinkling leaves under my feet and the deep breath of an autumn sunset. I touch and smell the leaves. You’re such a great Dad, you even threw in an uninterrupted ten-minute show by a full-grown Woody Woodpecker from a tree in our backyard. I reflect on the order of Your days and our world defined by water, soil and trees. Truly Your hand is remarkable.

These are the delicious days, sweetened by the breath of Your love. I open my mouth to taste the wind. I am grateful there are no wind calories as I taste the flavor of these fall days. These were the favorite days of my late husband, who rode a bed for seven years before he died. Even when outdoors, he lost the ability to touch, taste and feel. I take his touch and taste as well as my own into this rich and textured thankful party. I also take the faith he showed in You while in the face of deep suffering. Somewhere in the years since his death, nature has become more important to me than shopping. He would have laughed about that.

Soon, the Carolina blue sky will be a magnificent backdrop for Clemson orange leaves fringed with South Carolina garnet. I embrace my home as a treasure in my heart and enjoy it with all my senses. Prayerfully, I ask that this treasure of colors hold me through the gray days of winter. As I drift from thankfulness back to the necessary dishwater, a parting poem bounces heavenward.

Heaven stretches

Through our state,

Treasures of trails,

Lazy lakes.

Majestic mountains

Wrap its route.

God, the most expert

Artist,

Sketched our Golden

Corner no doubt.”

From God’s heart, to mine, and now to you, I hope I gave you a lift.

Ann Coogler lives and writes in Salem, S.C., with her husband Bill. Her story, “The Jersey Blanket” appears in “Chicken Soup for the Soul: People Who Make a Difference.” Her Web site/blog is http://www.anncoogler.com

You can reach her at abcoog@mindspring.com